


Call Me Your God

by Anthropophobia



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alexis | Quackity Needs a Hug, Angst and Smut, Bipolar Disorder, Choking, God Complex, Hybrid Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), I'm still not good at tagging, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Schlatt has a severe God complex, Schlatt is not human though he's literally a deity, Schlatt isn't a good guy lowkey, Smut happens in chapter 7, Villain Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur is sad in this I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:08:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28282947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anthropophobia/pseuds/Anthropophobia
Summary: Wilbur wasn't sure what to do. Trapped. Trapped in this endless void of a white room, the only other person that of a madman, who rambled on, day after day. He needed to get out. He wasn't crazy. He needed to escape.(Mostly just Wilbur being stuck in a white room with Schlatt until they fall in love)
Relationships: Jschlatt/Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 32
Kudos: 232





	1. Take Your Time

Wilbur pounded against the firm white walls, screaming for help. He didn't deserve to be here. He didn't need to be here. This was Hell and he was supposed to be on Earth. He continued to bang against the walls, tears streaming from his face, as he slowly slide against the pale canvas' that were being used to keep him in. He slumped on the ground in a heap, looking up to the fluorescent lights that always seemed to be on. How long had he been here? A minute? A hour? A day? Time seemed to blend together in this place. Speaking of which, what was this place? It wasn't an asylum, as Wilbur currently wasn't in a straitjacket, and the doors weren't barred. This place just didn't give off an asylum vibe. Though, the people Wilbur passed on the way here definitely deserved to be in an mental hospital.

He passed a young, blonde haired boy who had been slamming his head against the padded walls, his eye bruised, his nose bent the wrong direction, though it was mildly clear that the boy didn't really care. Tommy, his name was. How did he know? On the outside of their little rooms, their names were plastered into a little holder, almost as if people would pass through and stare at the people here, maybe get a crack out of their suffering.

Another person Wilbur passed was a guy with choppily cut pink hair that seemed to have been cut by a child. He looked odd, his ears elvish, two tusks poking out from under his lips. He was talking to himself, muttering over and over about "blood for the blood god", whatever the hell that meant. They (who the hell is they in this situation?), apparently, called him Technoblade, though his name was Dave, so Wilbur had been told. Others he passed didn't seem as mentally unstable. Some looked, and even acted, normal, which was slightly odd. Were they just throwing anyone in here?

What was even more odd, was that Wilbur could vaguely remember Tommy and Dave. How? The answer alluded him, as Wilbur had never recalled meeting those two nutjobs. He was snapped out of his flashbacks by the sound of banging on the door. Looking up, he stared at one the men who escorted him here, a guy by the name of Sapnap. It was an odd name, like who in their right mind names their child Sapnap, but whatever. He stared at Wilbur, before muttering, Wilbur only being close enough understand it.

"Time for lunch. Come on."

Wilbur sighed, getting up. If it was time for lunch, then it must be around noon, right? It could also be the crack of dawn, but who knows. He trudged over, watching Sapnap as he opened the heavy door. The two walked down to two large metal doors, the sign above them reading "Canteen." Wilbur crossed his arms, hearing people coming out of their rooms, their footsteps echoing in the large hallways. Sapnap pushed the doors open, the chattering of many other people echoing in the canteen. Wilbur was led to the line, and he was left to stand there. He heard the occasional snippet from others conversations, some about how they wanted to leave this Hellhole, others talking about random things, like how Elon Musk put his car in a rocket, flew it to space, then let the rocket land itself. Walking forward, Wilbur accidently bumped into the guy in front of him. The guy turned around, his white jumpsuit tagged with the name "Alexis" though the "is" at the end had been scribbled out. Wilbur put his hands up, looking down at Alex.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bump into you."

"It's fine. Just be careful. Some people here will murder you if you do that."

Wilbur blinked, staring at Alex. His expression was one of fear, as he tried to define if the black haired man was being serious or not. Alex seemed to realize what Wilbur was thinking, nodding, before quietly pointing to a group of people, what Wilbur assume to be guards, holding onto a singular man, who had a rather sinister look to him. Wilbur couldn't exactly see clearly what he looked like, as his glasses had been taken from him when he got shoved into this joint, making it difficult to discern who he wasn't supposed to mess with, but he was clear enough for Wilbur to understand he was bad news.

"What's up with him?"

Wilbur asked, whispering to Alex, who seemed to instinctively rub his wrists, motioning for Wilbur to move closer. He moved his jumpsuit sleeves up, the curly haired Brit staring at the horrific mess that covered Alex's arms. Scars covered every inch of his forearms, scabs layering over each other, some newer than others. Wilbur's eyes moved up and down, before Alex grabbed his ear, whispering.

"You should see the ones on my thighs.."

Wilbur covered his mouth, looking at Alex, who nodded, confirming what the Brit was thinking. He bent over the metal bar, staring at the ground, trying to clear his mind, before feeling an elbow in his side. Alex's expression was similar to Wilbur's earlier; complete fear. Wilbur looked up, the man who Alex was pointing to earlier was walking over, the guards following close behind. Now that he was closer, Wilbur could decipher the man's incredibly weird looks.

His jawline was rather sharp, the muttonchops on the sides of his head almost hiding it, though. His brown hair was brushed to the right side, and his eyes were the color of fresh blood, a dark crimson that made Wilbur freeze. His ears resembled that of a goat, downturned, and slightly fluffy, the same as his hair. What really caught Wilbur's attention were the two large ram horns protruding from the man's head. They were a beautiful golden color, that almost made Wilbur think that they were actual gold. His jumpsuit was different from the others, as it was a shocking black. His name tag read "J. Schlatt", a name the Brit could've sworn he had heard being whispered among the others in this god forsaken institution. Wilbur didn't realize he was staring until he heard his name hissed out by Alex, who gestured towards Schlatt, who was staring Wilbur down as well. A smirk appeared on the ram-man's face when he realized that Wilbur was studying what he looked like. He leaned closer, the restraints on his arms jingling, like bells.

"You admirin' my face, pretty boy?"

His voice was silky, a New York accent very clear. Wilbur blinked, shaking his head 'no'. A mock frown showed up on Schlatt's face, though there was clear malintent behind the fake sadness.

"A shame. You're rather good-lookin' yourself."

Again, the restraints jingled, Wilbur clearly understanding what it meant. He was trying to move his arms. Maybe to grab Wilbur, or to hold onto the metal bar in front of him. Alex shifted uncomfortably, a soft cough coming out of his mouth, regret snapping onto Alex's face when Schlatt turned to look at him. His smirk slightly faltered, his gaze meeting the fear-stricken eyes of the man in front of Wilbur. The restraints jingled again, as Schlatt tried to take step towards Alex, who backed up a little.

"Alexis."

"S-Sch.. umm..."

"No, no. Go one. What's my name, Alexis?"

Alex's lower lip trembled, his hands instinctively moved up to his arms, gripping them, fear present on his face. Schlatt was looking at Alex, but to Wilbur could tell that this guy was staring into Alex's soul. Schlatt lunged towards the black haired man, his restraints pulling on his arms, his sharp teeth bared. Alex yelped, moving backwards. Wilbur moved in front of Schlatt, hiding Alex behind him. The ram-man gave the brown haired Brit a smile, leaning forward.

"Hey, pretty boy. MOVE."

Schlatt hissed, Wilbur feeling a chill run down his spine. The Brit shook his head 'no', getting a glare out of the ram-man. He suddenly lunged again, Wilbur letting a scream out. The guards who had been toting Schlatt around, came out of nowhere, tackling the man. He screamed, writhing on the ground, under the multiple guards.

"LET ME GO! LET YOUR GOD GO!"

Schlatt screamed, being dragged out of the canteen, cursing Alex's name. Wilbur turned around, staring at the black haired man, who was shaking in fear.

"What the hell just happened?"


	2. Introduction to the Madness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like, quick //TW// for attempted suicide, like no joke. Please just skip the parts with the dashes. You won't miss much, just please do it if you are sensitive with the topic.
> 
> I apologize for the rather short chapter, I'm just tired and wanted to leave off on a cliff-hanger.
> 
> Also, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, Merry Kwanza, or Happy/Merry whatever you celebrate!

Wilbur was so utterly confused. He had just been waiting in line for his lunch when a, mildly attractive, madman had walked up and had a breakdown. The Brit stared at his food, his eyebrows furrowed, Alex rambling on in Spanish, probably not even caring that Wilbur couldn't understand him. What the hell was happening here? He had asked the question to himself many times before. Alex seemed to realize that Wilbur wasn't listening to him, softly poking him with the fork, asking him a question in Spanish, Wilbur only shaking his head, messing with the greenish mashed potatoes that sat on his tray. He looked up at Alex, who looked concerned.

"What's going on, Wil?"

He asked in English, Wilbur looking up to stare at him.

"I dunno. That Schlatt guy just made my stomach feel upset. I wanna know what's up with him. It's also this place. I don't get it."

Alex shrugged, grabbing his fork, shoveling the disgusting potatoes into his mouth. Wilbur's face scrunched up in disgust, watching Alex swallow the light green food.

"I don't know much about this place. All I know is that I was put in here because 'having bipolar disorder' and 'multiple personalities' is a 'disease'."

He took another bite of the gross food, Wilbur raising an eyebrow.

"But I can tell ya about Sch.. Sc... God."

Alex looked around, before motioning Wilbur closer.

"He has a very severe God complex. You gotta call him God and do what he says or he'll get incredibly upset. He's so psychotic and it's horrifying when he gets mad. It's worse if he becomes attracted to you. Lemme tell 'bout these three girls how had shown up one day. They were here for some maniac tendencies and, apparently, they wanted to take down the person who was 'top of the food chain', like the person who was most feared. They listened in to what people were talking about and they decided to try and fight Sch..."

Alex looked around again, Wilbur assuming that he was looking to make sure Schlatt wasn't near, though he didn't know why he'd still be in the canteen, when both the Brit and the dark haired man saw him get dragged out of the room. Alex looked back at Wilbur, continuing on with his story.

"So, as I was saying, these three girls went after Schlatt to try and fight him. They found him, took him out by the yard. Come next morning, all tres of those bimbos were found dead out by the guards room. They only knew it was Schlatt because the cameras clearly showed him torturing them, before brutally stabbing them to death with his weird ass horns, before dumping them. He was already stuck here, the guards permanently putting restraints on his arms, locking him up in his room, kinda like Bane."

Wilbur covered his mouth, about to say something, only to be stopped by Alex who continued on.

"And remember how I said it gets worse if he's attracted to you? Yeah, take it from someone who experienced it. Literally, everyday was Hell on Earth. I had tried to kill myself so many times, but for some reason, I couldn't die. The scars and scabs on my arms? They aren't from me. My body is practically mutilated because of Schlatt. He will hurt you in so many ways, but for some odd reason, you keep coming back. It's like he's irresistible..."

Alex seemed to loose focus, staring at the table. Wilbur stared at him, waving a hand in front of his face. The black haired man seemed to be in a trance, as he continued to stare at the table. After a while, he looked back at the Brit, smiling, before slamming his head against the table. He lifted his head again, before slamming it straight down, blood spurting from his nose. Wilbur jumped up, screaming, as he continued to watch the man in front of him slam his head on the metal table. After the fifth slam, Alex's face looked horrifying. His nose was smashed in, his left eye bruised, his front teeth bent in different directions. Guards quickly rushed over, grabbing the man. He grabbed a fork, shoving it into the side of neck, blood leaking from the stab wound, as Alex's eyes slightly glazed over.

Wilbur backed up, bumping into people as he stared at the bloody face of the man he just had a conversation with, his (presumably) dead body being dragged out of canteen. Was this something that happened to bipolar people? Wilbur knew about the intense mood swings, but he never heard of someone attempting to commit suicide because of bipolar. There was no way that Schlatt guy had something to do with it. He wasn't here, and Alex only said that he has a God complex, never that he could make someone commit suicide just by speaking badly of him. Wilbur felt sick to his stomach, hitting a wall as he bent over. This was sickening. What the hell just happened? He felt dizzy, bending over a trash can, throwing up. He grabbed his stomach, puke flowing out of his mouth. His body felt weak, his knees and legs shaking. He felt light-headed, tumbling over, his head hitting the ground, as he passed out.

(TL;DR: Alex informed Wilbur on what Schlatt is known for, before attempting, and possibly succeeding, in suicide.)

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Wilbur opened his eyes, the fluorescent lights no longer on. He sat up, looking around his room, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He heard shuffling, feeling a hand move up his legs, to his thigh, to his shoulder, when he was suddenly pushed down onto the bed. He struggled against their touch, hearing a quiet laugh echo in the empty room._

_"Don't struggle, pretty-boy. It'll only make this harder for you.."_

_His eyes widened, and though he couldn't see the speaker, he could identify that voice and the way the person spoke. He struggled more, feeling his shoulder being dug into the bed more._

_"What did I say, Wilbur. Don't. Struggle."_

_Wilbur stopped moving, his breathing becoming labored as he felt warm breath next to his ear. The hand that previously lay on his shoulder, moved back down to his leg, landing on his thigh. "Now, beautiful, tell me what you heard from Alexis. I'm so very interested." The Brit shook his head, feeling another hand creep up towards his neck. He felt fingers graze his skin, his Adam's Apple bobbing as he swallowed his spit, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. Schlatt's warm breath was heating up the side of Wilbur's throat. He decided that Schlatt didn't deserve to know, making up a lie._

_"H-he... didn't tell me anything. I promise."_

_Immediately, Schlatt's hand wrapped around Wilbur's throat, the Brit struggling, as his air was cut off. His lips began to become blue, as Wilbur cried and begged for Schlatt to let go. His vision began to fade, his eyes closing. He felt like he was falling..._

And then, Wilbur hit the floor of his room, rubbing his head. The fluorescent lights were off, the only light coming from a little light above a mirror, and no one else in the room, besides the Brit. His hand shook as he reached up to his throat. Feeling around, nothing felt out of the ordinary. He got up, stumbling over to the mirror on the wall. When did this get here? Wilbur shook his head, staring into the mirror. His neck looked fine, nothing to mark or indicate that he had been choked. No red marks, nothing. Was that a dream? If so, what the hell. Why would he dream something like that?

Wilbur turned on the faucet, another thing that just showed up with the mirror, splashing cold water onto his face. Glancing back up at the mirror, he waited to see if anything had changed, and to his surprise, everything remained the same. Nothing new appeared, Wilbur's reflection stayed the same. He sighed, gripping the edge of the sink. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing again. Just to double check, Wilbur took more cold water, splashing it on his face again. Staring into the mirror, he waited. Nothing. He groaned, walking back over to his bed, flopping down. This was tiring, he needed rest, and it was clearly still night. Closing his eyes, he let himself drift off to sleep again.

" _Welcome back, Wilbur."_


	3. Infestation

The dreams Wilbur had continued, each one getting more suggestive, but somehow always ending up with Wilbur being choked on the floor. He never understood the dreams. All he knew was that he wasn't supposed to be having them. He never got any sleep, and when he did, he only slept for a little before falling out of bed, and going to sit under his mirror. Every time. Wilbur didn't even know how long he'd been having these dreams, and he surely didn't know how long he'd been in this God forsaken place.

Wilbur sat in the courtyard, watching the game between the others that were occurring. It didn't look like football, or soccer as the Americans called it, and it surely wasn't rugby. It could've been basketball, or baseball, but Wilbur had forgotten. He seemed dazed, feeling a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, his eyes met Alex's. The man looked more frail, a cast surrounding his nose, bandages wrapped around his neck to keep his neck safe.

"O-oh. Alex.. hello."

"Hey Wilbur. You look... horrible."

The Brit chuckled, a sad smile on his face. He nodded, rubbing his eyes. Wilbur had gotten used to seeing the dark bags under his eyes every morning. He got used to the tired face he saw in the mirror every day. Alex sat next to him, patting his back.

"So... do you know why you look like shit?"

"Mm hmm.."

Was all Wilbur replied with, his eyes moving towards the players in the game that was going on. He swore he saw the golden horns that he had seen so many times in his dreams before.

"You wanna tell me why, or...?"

"Yeah.. it's just nightmares. They've been keeping me up."

Alex bit his lip, nodding, clear suspicion on his face. He pat Wilbur's back one more time, before he gripped Wilbur's jumpsuit. The suspicion turned from fear, to fake happiness. The Brit looked up, spying the face he had seen so often. The cruel smile he had gotten so used to was so clear, his beautiful crimson eyes shining. The black jumpsuit that Wilbur had seen strewn onto his floor multiple times seemed to be more tight on Schlatt's body. Wilbur was snapped out of his daze by Alex, who elbowed his arm, jutting his head towards the ram-man, who was approaching the two.

Wilbur unconsciously adjusted his posture, Alex taking note of it. Schlatt sauntered over to the two, stopping in front of them. He smiled at the Alex.

"Alexis. I'm glad to see you're doing better."

"Mmm hmm.. Sure Schlatt."

Wilbur's eyes moved from Alex, to Schlatt, then back to Alex. He was focused on the dark haired male, when he felt a hand on his chin. Gently, his head was turned towards Schlatt, the crimson eyes staring into brown ones.

"Wilbur.."

The curly haired Brit smiled, leaning into his touch. Why? This place must've been getting to him. His brain was consciously reminding him that this guy, this man, who stood in front of him, was a psychotic killer, but for some reason, Wilbur could've cared less. It was almost, as if, something was messing with his rational thoughts.

"My God..."

Wilbur whispered, leaning into Schlatt's touch more. The realization of what was happening seemed to slowly show on Alex's face. Quickly, the dark haired man pushed the Brit away from Schlatt, trying to slap him out of it, to no avail. Wilbur seemed to be entranced, like his brain was no longer his. Alex felt the most fear he's ever felt when the cold touch of a hand landed on his shoulder.

"Alexis. Let him go."

Schlatt whispered, his voice rough, going about an octave lower. A chill ran down Alex's spine, but he still shook his head in a defiant ‘no’. The hand that sat on Alex’s shoulder began to squeeze, the dark haired man slightly struggling. 

“Alexis. Let Wilbur go.”

“No. I don’t want you hurting him.”

The hand on Alex’s shoulder squeezed more, getting a pathetic squeak out of the dark haired man, who cursed Schlatt under his breath.

“We don’t need more of you Schlatt. You’re a sick, disgusting disease that needs to be exterminated.”

Schlatt’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Alex, who, despite sounding confident, looked absolutely horrified out of his mind. But, apparently, the three were drawing attention to themselves. Phil, one of the older “inmates”, who had been here since Schlatt was thrown in, decided to go see what was going on. He strolled over, hearing the slight argument between Alex and Schlatt.

“...because you have a God complex doesn’t mean you can get what you want, dipshit.”

“Oh, be quiet, you dumbfuck. You can’t be on both sides, saying that I’m a infection in Wilbur, but then also say I’m not a God. I don’t think it was you who made you stab yourself in the fat you call a neck.”

“Very mature, you goat. Go fuck yourself, and stay away from Wilbur. We don’t need you infesting his mind too.”

Phil sighed. He wasn’t quite sure what was happening, but he’d try and solve it. He strolled over to the two, stopping. He stared at the sight in front of him. Wilbur, the newest “inmate” who looked eerily familiar to Phil, Alex, pushing Wilbur away from Schlatt, while also cussing the ram-man out, and finally Schlatt, who was attempting to pull Wilbur over to himself, while also cussing Alex out. Just another day. Phil did take notice of Wilbur’s odd mannerisms, though. When he first showed up, about a year and a half ago, he was lively and jubilant. Sure, he started to loose the concept of time, forgetting that he’d been here a while, forgetting who was here, and what was here. And, yeah, right now, he seemed a little dazed, a little out of it. But, Phil needed to stop this argument, because he’d been standing here for a total of two minutes and thirty six seconds, yet neither of the men in front of him noticed.

“You two need to stop. Everyone here is so tired of hearing you two fight.”

Schlatt looked up at Phil, glaring at him.

“How about you mind your own fucking business, you feathery dickhead.”

Phil rolled his eyes, continuing on.

“Listen, Alex, you need to stop with the ‘oh, Schlatt’s some sort of inhuman thing that can just infest people and make them do his bidding.’ We’re all human here, and, honestly? So many of us don’t know where you got that idea from. And, Schlatt, you need to stop acting insane and manipulative. You’ve killed so many people in the matter of a week, yet when it comes to some guy, it’s like you attach yourself to them, like you’re a parasite. You treat that guy like shit, then suddenly, the next day, he’s head over heels for you.”

Phil looked over at Wilbur, then back at Schlatt, then to Alex.

“Alex.”

“Yeah, Phil?”

“Let Wilbur go. Schlatt, don’t say anything to him.”

“You aren’t my fucking dad, I’ll do what I want.”

“We’ll see about that when you get thrown in isolation again.”

Schlatt grumbled something under his breath. Phil had known him long enough that if you just call his bluff, he’ll just bend. So much for “being a God” if you just bend to what people tell you to do after they call you out. Alex let Wilbur go, the Brit staring ahead. Phil stood next to Schlatt, just to make sure he didn’t say anything. Wilbur kind of just... sat on the bench, not moving.

“Phil, just watch. As soon as Schlatt says anything, Wilbur will fucking book it over to him.”

Alex muttered. Phil nodded, looking at Schlatt.

“Schlatt, say something that is nowhere related to ‘Wilbur come over here.’”

Schlatt seemed to ponder it for a second, before looking over at Wilbur.

“I’m not a fan of British people.”

And just like that, Wilbur got up and strolled towards Schlatt, leaning against him. Alex looked at Phil, wide eyes, gesturing to the two.

“UHHHH, SEE PHIL!”

“That’s not supporting your case. Here.”

Phil picked up Wilbur, putting back down on the bench, before walking back to the two men.

“Schlatt, curse Wilbur out. If he comes over and does what he just did, then we’ll see if Alex is really crazy or not, and if he’s just making up you being an infestation.”

Again, it took the ram-man a second to think about what to say, before he leaned forward, staring at Wilbur.

“Wilbur, you stupid fuck. You’re an idiot. You’re fucking dumb. You can’t even walk straight, much less act straight, you fucking dickhead.”

And, again, Wilbur got up, sauntering over to Schlatt, leaning against him, whispering ‘sorry’ over and over. Alex frantically gestured between the two, Phil biting the inside of his cheek.

“SEEE PHIL! ITS NOT NATURAL!”

Schlatt glared at Alex, though he couldn’t really see all that well, because Wilbur was wrapped around the ram-man. Phil stared at the Brit, waving his hand in front of his face, getting no reaction. This was very odd. Phil didn’t know why Wilbur was acting like this. Alex was trying to pry the two apart, Schlatt only kicking him in response.

Eventually it got violent between Alex and Schlatt, the dark haired male, falling down, grabbing onto one of Schlatt’s horns, bringing him down with him. They two fought, one kicking the other, and one pushing the others’s face into the ground as he punched him.

The guards soon came over, grabbing Schlatt’s arms. It had become routine at this point. They looked at his arms, noticing a strange lack of chains and handcuffs.

“Who let him out of his restraints?”

The guards talked among themselves, Alex standing up, his legs shaking. He flipped Schlatt off, the ram-man glaring back. Wilbur moved back over to Schlatt, the guards somehow not noticing. His long, thin fingers, carefully touched the sides of his face, Wilbur placing a single kiss on his lips, before backing up. Alex shrieked, grabbing Wilbur, pulling him away from Schlatt.

Alex yelled at Wilbur, who seemed to be coming back to his senses, asking questions about what happened and why he only remembered connecting lips with a psycho.

Soon, everyone was brought back to their rooms. Wilbur walked in, rubbing his temples. What happened today? Why didn’t he remember anything besides kissing Schlatt? What was going on with his brain. He sat on his bed, sighing. He felt hands creeping up his back, only assuming he had fallen asleep, when he felt warm breath on his neck.

“Wilbur...”

“Schlatt.”

“You aren’t dreaming anymore~”

“...I know...”


	4. You Keep Me Up At Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. I'm back. Sorry about that, some shit going on recently got me fucked up. But, here's a rushed chapter.

Wilbur sighed, the familiar feeling of strong hands wrapping around his throat slowly pulling him into a dreamy state. He leaned back more, the hand tightening, informing the Brit that he wasn't supposed to do that. He moved forward again, the grip on the hand slacking. Schlatt pressed his lips against Wilbur's, getting a groan out of the other man. Why? Why was the Brit enjoying this so much. His brain was trying to rationalize the situation. The man currently choking him was a psychopath, who was most likely doing this to get any sort of validation or just to get his rocks off to choking someone. Wilbur whimpered out, feeling Schlatt softly rut against him.

"You like that, Wilbur? Huh? You like it when I choke you?"

The horned man whispered in the Brit's ear, a shiver running down the curly haired man's spine. He sighed, tilting his head back again. Again, the hand around his throat tightened, Wilbur clearly not caring.

"Wilbur, answer me."

Silence.

"Wilbur."

More silence. Schlatt's grip tightened more, leaving Wilbur literally gasping for air. The two stared at each other, the silence so loud, the Brit's ears ringing. Eventually, the American let go, crawling off Wilbur, leaving him to take in the air. He shakily touched his neck, as if he was checking if it was still there. Schlatt stood on the other side of the cell, staring down at the other man. Once again, silence filled the room, Wilbur touching his neck, Schlatt staring at him silently.

"Why... why did you do that?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You choked me!"

"Well, you were enjoying it."

Wilbur looked disgusted.

"I couldn't BREATHE. What made you THINK that?! I was LITERALLY struggling to BREATHE and yOU ASSUMED I ENJOYED THAT?"

Schlatt cocked an eyebrow. The Brit glared at him, standing up. He strutted over to him, poking his chest.

"You're an asshole. You act like you're above everyone, but you aren't. You-"

Again, the American's hand shot up to Wilbur's throat again, breath leaving him again. he was pressed against the wall, gripping, and clawing at the large hand wrapped around his neck. He kicked, trying to get away from this psycho in front of him. The Brit stared into Schlatt's eyes, insanity hidden behind the red irises. The grip on his throat loosened, Wilbur falling to the ground, gasping for air again. The ram-man crouched down, grabbing Wilbur's hair, pulling his head back.

"What was that, Wil? What were you saying?"

"I was saying you aren't the god you think you are-"

A foot slammed into the side of Wilbur's body, causing him to scream out. He instinctively curled up, groaning in pain. Schlatt crouched back down, grabbing his hair again.

"I don't think you know this, Wilbur, but I love you so much. More than you could ever know."

"N-No you don't-"

Again, Schlatt's foot slammed into Wilbur's body. He coughed up blood, falling to the ground. He felt the American's hand run down his body, staying on the small of his back. Wilbur tried to get up, getting kicked again. He flopped over, tears streaming from his eyes.

"You're a fucking asshole!"

He cried out, his voice cracking. Schlatt laughed, his psycho laugh echoing throughout the room. He grabbed Wilbur's chin, forcing the Brit to look up at him.

"You're just saying that. You know you love me. You know it."

He purred, Wilbur struggling.

"LEAVE ME ALONE! PLEASE!"

The Brit screamed, grabbing onto his wrist. Schlatt rolled his eyes, pulling Wilbur up, pressing his lips against the others. He began to struggled, the American's grip on him tightening. He pushed, squirming. Wilbur eventually got the horned man away from him.

"I _HATE_ you."

"Fine. You won't think that tomorrow. How about you go to sleep, Wilbur." He backed up, the hand crawling back up to his throat. His air ways closed up, his breath being cut off quickly. A strangled moan escaped his mouth, as he passed out.


	5. Caramel Tears

_The quiet strumming of a guitar could be heard from the bottom of the beautiful flowery hill. A lone tree stood on the top, it's leaves shaking in the light wind, the strumming continuing. Hands danced over the caramel colored petals as the breeze blew them around, the melody and notes floating in the gusts as well. How calm it was. How beautiful it was. Everything was tranquil._

_Skinny fingers plucked at the strings, eyes lidded, brown hair dancing in the wind. Digits moved along the golden strings, the melodic tune only enhanced by the wind. The flowers and grass shifted as hands continued to sway over them._

_Palms rest on the guitar, as the lanky fingers continued to trace over the tow-colored cords. Soft, but chapped lips pressed against the forehead, curly locks being brushed away because of the wind. The digits halted, the chocolate eyes that were once focused on the tan cables, moved up, fixating on the caramel colored eyes that were centralized on the others._

_The chocolate eyes moved down to the chapped lips that had previously kissed the guitarist's head. The musician then took time to study the face that had been getting closer and closer to their own. Sharp jawline, slim nose, gentle features, all tied together by the beautiful caramel colored eyes that matched with the scenery around them, along with the fact that they, he, smelled like caramel as well._

_The musician felt the calloused palm meet their cheek, a thumb traced the side of their face, a smile forming on the caramel eyed man in front of the guitarist. The acoustic guitar was removed from their lap, as the caramel man in front of them going slowly, and ever closer to their face. The pastel colors around the two seemed to light up more as the sun hit the mountains behind them._

_Closer and closer, their faces slowly moved towards the other, until they met, chapped lips meeting soft ones. The hand that lay on the musician's face had left, going to their wrist now, pinning it to the tree as the two continued, their lips moving in unison. They fit together like a puzzle piece._

_They parted, taking in the breath that was missing from their bodies. Hands pinned to the tree behind them, the musician exhaled shakily. Again, the chocolate eyes met caramel ones, a smile formed on the amber eyed man's face. Leaning close, he whispered in their ear._

_"Wilbur~"  
_

_The musician jumped slightly. Now that he thought about it, the man in front of him looked so familiar._

_"Wilbur, listen to me.."_

_The silence was filled with the sound of leaves rustling, the wind blowing, and the sound of quiet breathing._

_"We can have this reality, Wilbur. We can have this. All you have to do is submit. Submit to me. Submit to me and all that I stand for."_

_The guitarist's breath hitched. The chapped lips moved closer to his neck, hot puffs of air hitting his throat._

_"Just submit to me."_

_He repeated. The musician felt his heart begin to speed up. The thought of living in this calm hill, no stress, no worries, nothing. He could play the guitar and sing. He could have the perfect life here, on this melancholy hill, with the caramel flowers and the great oak tree._

_But, somewhere in the back of his brain, he was warned. A red flag. This man in front of him, with the amber eyes, the gentle features, the soft brown hair wasn't... real. There was no way. It was a projection. A projection of what he wanted. The perfect person. The perfect place._

_The strong hands that pinned his wrists to the tree began to squeeze around them, the warm breath quickly retracting from his neck, as the man moved away from the musician. They stared at each other, as the beautiful reality around them seemed to burn away._

_Actually, quite literally. Flames engulfed the grassy plane as the musician watched. The caramel colored eyes, along with the elegant, gentle man in front of him, began to melt away along with the amber colored flowers that littered the hill._

_The scenery went up in smoke, the gorgeous hill being replaced by a destroyed town square. Banners burned, decorations ablaze. People were thrown as explosions blew the square into more pieces, as the sharp ringing of the TNT echoed out. The musician stood witness to it all, standing in one of the only intact spots._

_"Wilbur."_

_He turned around, meeting the gaze of the Phil, though he looked different. Instead of a jumpsuit, he wore green robes, a bucket hat, and a sword was strapped to his side. His face was one of disappointment and fear._

_"What did you do?"_

_The musician raised his eyebrows, wanting to back up, only to be met with a cliff._

_"I..."_

_"You blew up L'manberg! You destroyed your country!"_

_Phil gestured to the huge craters that now littered this "country", which was apparently called "L'manberg". The guitarist blinked, gripping his clothes._

_"You're supposed to be my son, not an anarchist! You aren't supposed to be a terrorist, Wil!"_

_"Son?" "Terrorist?" This was all so confusing. What was happening? The guitarist opened his mouth to answer, before a sharp pain sliced through his body. He collapsed to his knees, blood spurting out of his mouth. His eyes widened, as he was suddenly pushed over the cliff. He almost hit the floor, when suddenly..._

Wilbur gasped, hitting the ground. He sat up, looking around. The pale canvas walls stung his eyes, almost as much as the fluorescent lights. He gripped his hair, tears streaming down his face. Quickly and quietly, he walked over to the mirror above the sink. He unzipped his jumpsuit, staring at the long scar that ran down his chest in a horizontal line. He shakily exhaled, touching his neck. His dreams had to have meant something. They had to have.

"Attention, inmates!"

The loudspeaker screamed out.

"Inmate 531477, otherwise known as Schlatt, has escaped his cell and confines. Please, hide under your beds, and stay quiet. The doors on your cells have activated emergency lockdown. Do not worry, we are going to get him back under control."

Wilbur furrowed his brow, strolling over to the bed, crawling under it.

The Brit had a feeling Schlatt was coming for him.


	6. Some Sort of Comfort

Wilbur had decided that, if Schlatt was actually coming for him, that he shouldn't hide under the bed. He concluded to that he should stand next to the door, if that psycho would break it down. There was a voice in the back of his mind, though, that was trying to rationalize the feeling of love Wilbur should feel towards Schlatt. It was telling him that he deserved sympathy, he can't help the way he is, you can help him get better, Wilbur. That's what his brain was saying. 

He covered his ears, attempting to drown out the screaming of people down the hall, and the screaming of the sirens that echoed through the facility. He closed his eyes, trying to stop the red flashing lights from scorching his view. 

The yells got louder, as the faint pitter patter of feet got closer to the cell. Wilbur held his breath, knowing what that meant. He slid down the wall, scrunching up into the fetal position. The locks on the door jiggled, before completely coming off. The Brit stared at the door, as it slowly opened, watching as a foot crossed the threshold of his safe cell and the dangerous outside. Wilbur covered his mouth, staring up at Schlatt as he calming walked into the room.

His brown hair looked disheveled, his blood red iris' piercing through Wilbur's soul, his black jumpsuit ripped in multiple places. They kept eye contact as he slowly closed the door. The slightly taller man backed up into one of the many corners, staying on the floor.

Schlatt walked over and Wilbur caught his breath. His dream flooded back, this reality flashing as the caramel colored scenery lit up in front of him. Schlatt continued moving towards him, though Wilbur focused on the ground, staring at the fake flowers, glancing at the false grass. It was quiet, there. He flinched slightly when that oh, so familiar calloused palm cupped his face. The near feeling of his throat closing up came back, though he could feel no hand.

Wilbur's terrified eyes directed themselves to Schlatt, who stared back. Odd. It was so very odd. He seemed to have gone deaf. He couldn't hear the screaming sirens, the wailing of patients. God, serenity felt so nice. Everything was so quiet, and that's all Wilbur could've wanted. The two stared at each other, neither one moving. That nostalgic feeling of loosing breath hit even harder this time, as Wilbur leaned his head back. Over and over, his brain flashed images of the caramel fields, the quiet hum of the guitar strings echoing in his brain.

"Wilbur."

He closed his eyes, focusing on that voice.

"Wilbur."

God, what a voice.

" _Wilbur_."

He smiled. He felt oddly warm. Is this what happens when you spiral into insanity? If so, Wilbur couldn't complain. He would gladly listen to the guitar, hear the chirping of birds, feel the soft blades of grass in between his fingers. 

" _Wilbur_."

He thought about it. Maybe the Schlatt in his dream was right. Wilbur so desperately wanted that reality he had seen in his dreams. He wanted to stay there. He could have a cottage at the top of the hill, next to the tree. He could do everything he wanted. Maybe his family could join. His family. His family. God, he hadn't seen them in a while. Or had he?

Wilbur's thoughts were rushing by at a thousand miles per hour, every concept he reflected on looking so much better than his current reality. He felt the calloused hands grip his own and he couldn't help but smile. He saw the better Schlatt, the one that wore the beautiful caramel colored sweater, the one with the beautiful amber eyes, the one who smelled like sweets. The one who wouldn't hurt him. Could he have that?

Oh god, he wanted that.

"WILBUR."

He snapped back into reality, the blaring sirens coming back, the crying, and wailing returning. He stared into the crimson eyes of the psycho in front of him, Wilbur starting to tear up. He wasn't in that world of greatness and joy. He wasn't in that dream. He was stuck in a psych ward, with a bunch of insane people. He couldn't have anything he wanted, could he?

"...what?"

"I know what you're thinking."

The Brit rolled his eyes, tilting his head so that it sat against the wall. 

"...you can't read my mind. You aren't a God, and you can't convince me of that, no matter how many times you choke me."

Schlatt stared at Wilbur, who slowly, but protectively, reached up to his own throat. They continued to stare at each other.

"Wilbur-"

"No.. I don't want to hear it. You can't give me what I want."

"Wilbur, let me-"

"No, I won't."

"Oh my... Just let me speak-"

"NO."

Schlatt groaned, grabbing the collar of Wilbur's jumpsuit, smashing his lips against the others. The chocolate eyes widened, Wilbur slightly squeaking, as he was pressed into the corner more. Lanky fingers found their way to even soft hair, a smile forming on the hybrid's face. Their lips stayed connected, only because one of the men were in shock. Suddenly, he was pushed back, Wilbur wiping his lips, staring at the man, who now laid on the floor. Disgust shown in those dirt brown eyes, glints of horror mixed in. 

Wilbur shakily touched his lips again, before glaring down Schlatt again. He watched as the ill man stood up, fear consuming his body. The taller man was hoisted up, getting slammed into the wall. Chapped lips harshly connected to his own again, hands pinning Wilbur's wrists to the walls. A knee found it's way in between his legs, keeping the Brit from moving. 

Moment after moment, Wilbur desperately called out for help from that man he had seen in his dream. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine that was who was kissing him. The heavy smell of caramel flooded his senses, the chapped lips that were so angrily smashing against his own became more soft. The tough grip on his wrists loosened. He felt the bark of the wood pressed against his back instead of those blinding white walls. He could feel the fabric of his yellow sweater ride up, instead of the material that made up his jumpsuit.

He could hear the smooth, deep voice whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He didn't want this fantasy to end. He felt the hands pull away from his wrists, landing on his waist. Immediately, Wilbur reached out, grabbing onto the cloth that was draped on Schlatt. 

It was odd, though. He felt the soft material of a sweater, not the rough fabric of a jumpsuit. Wilbur opened his eyes, staring at the Schlatt, the man he saw in his dream. Though the setting was the same, Schlatt was different. So, he wasn't imagining it. He was really kissing the man of his dreams.

"W-wait.. How did you change clothes?"

"I'm a God, Wilbur."

"B-but.."

"Shh... You know how to get what you want, Wilbur. Just..."

"Submit to you, Schlatt... Y-yeah."

A grin spread across his face.

"H-How would I do that?"

Schlatt's grin spread even wider, becoming even more sinister. He opened the door of the cell, looking around. He pulled Wilbur out of the room, dragging him down the hall. He lead him to the security office, dragging him into it. He locked the door, sitting down on the swivel chair. He patted his lap, staring at Wilbur.

"Submit to me, Wilbur. Follow my rules, praise me. Acknowledge that I'm your God."

The Brit's Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed his spit. He strolled over, splaying himself on Schlatt's lap. Wilbur placed his hands on his chest, staring into the caramel eyes, that were once blood red. God, he wanted that dream reality so much, he could care less if he was bent over the desk and fucked senseless.

"Oh, really, now?"

Shit.


	7. Sex in the Security Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go, you horny bastards. Also, I'm not good at smut, but, life is just like that.

Wilbur stood next to the long cabinets that adorned the walls, trying to keep his space from the man who sat in the chair next to the monitors. He wore an evil smirk, messing with the cuffs at the end of his sleeves, watching the Brit with intent.

The curly haired man knew he had two choices. Listen to Schlatt and hope he'd get what he wanted, or quickly book it out of the room. Either way, he knew he was screwed. Either way, he'd fall back into Schlatt's trap.

He was stuck. Again, he contemplated just running out of the room, maybe calling the guards. He could get Schlatt locked up again. He wouldn't have to worry about him. Wilbur looked back at the hybrid, who clicked his tongue.

"Wilbur, I literally know what you're thinking. Running out of here will do you no good."

The smirk on his face spread into a malicious smile.

"I'll always chase you down. It's just another game of cat and mouse."

Schlatt stood up, slinking over to Wilbur, who was frozen, stuck to the wall. The American reached out, brushing a single curl from the other man's face. He could feel Wilbur trembling.

"I have you stuck in a ball and chain. You can't leave me, Wil."

The Brit glared at Schlatt, getting a laugh out of the slightly shorter man. Strong hands found their way to a slim waist, pressing against the fabric that covered them. Caramel colored eyes met chocolate ones, quick breaths escaping soft lips. One of the hands that lay on Wilbur's waist moved up towards his throat.

His breath hitched, almost literally as the grip on his neck began to tighten. He knew exactly what Schlatt was doing, and, God, he hoped it wouldn't work. Wilbur tried to take deep breaths, reaching up to grab onto Schlatt's wrist, praying he would let go.

"Wilbur~"

He wished the American would stop saying his name like that. He wished he would just stop saying it in general. But, that part in the back of Wilbur's brain, the part that didn't feel like his own, told him that this was what he really needed. He could get everything he wanted just by letting this man, this psycho, touch him. He could have everything he craved just by giving Schlatt his body.

Wilbur tilted his head back, a sigh leaving his mouth. 

"S-Schlatt..."

A smile spread across his face.

"Wilbur~"

"Schlatt.."

The smile spread more, the grip on Wilbur's neck slightly tightening, getting a breathy moan out of the Brit. Schlatt smiled, watching as Wilbur's face turned red. It was quiet, as Schlatt continued to choke the curly haired man, quiet moans coming out every once in a while.

Suddenly, the hand on his throat was pulled back, and Wilbur was dragged over to the monitors. He was pinned against the desk, lips meeting his own.

"Wilbur, I want you to do something for me."

"N-no... This is all I'm doing for you."

Schlatt grabbed onto Wilbur's throat again, getting a yelp out of the taller man, who nodded qucikly.

"O-Ok! O-Ok, I'll do it!"

"Good boy~.. Now, I want you to turn on the PA system for Alex's cell. I want him to know that all his attempts to _save_ you failed."

Wilbur didn't even process what he just heard, only pressing down the button on labeled "PA". He switched through, going from all cells, to just Phil's, to Techno's, to Tommy's, then Alex's. He stopped switching, looking back at Schlatt, his head finally processing what was just said.

"Wait, wha-"

He didn't have time to speak as his jumpsuit was torn off, leaving Wilbur in his boxers. The Brit yelped accidently pressing down the button.

"S-Schlatt, wait-"

A finger was pressed against his lips, Wilbur's breath hitching. 

"You won't say my name during this. You'll worship me, but you'll never say my name. Understand?"

"I... Okay. I got it."

A smirk formed on Schlatt's face, his hands reaching down Wilbur's thighs, a whimper escaping the Brit's lips. The psychotic ram stared at the man he had laid out in front of him. Curly brown hair stuck to his forehead, chocolate eyes gleaming with tears, and with pleasure. Alabaster skin glistened with sweat, and a clear bulge pressed against the fabric of his boxers.

Schlatt grinned, practically ripping Wilbur’s underwear. He watched, licking his lips as the Brit’s member popped up, slapping against his pale stomach.

A strong hand reached over, grabbing onto the taller man’s thigh, lifting it up. Quiet pants escaped the Brit’s lips, groaning out in pleasure when a large finger pressed against his entrance.

Wilbur’s body twitched, feeling the digit enter him. Schlatt grinned more, moving his finger around, staring down at the curly haired Brit as he squirmed and moaned. The ram man’s eyes were suddenly directed to the monitors, more specifically towards Alex, who was screaming at the guards, most likely yelling about Wilbur’s moans and Schlatt’s voice coming from the speakers.

He assumed they only had a little while until the guards arrived. Schlatt decided that he wouldn’t prep Wilbur. The guy didn’t deserve it. Plus, he clearly likes the pain. Pulling his finger out, the ram began to strip down, keeping the sweater on, giving the Brit something to hold on, wether it was intentional or not.

Wilbur’s eyes went straight down to Schlatt’s pelvis as he pulled his boxers off. He watched the slightly tan cock slap against the soft fabric of the sweater. The curly haired man looked down at his on member, then back at the other man. Schlatt had a significantly larger dick, not just lengthwise, but width wise. Guess those ram genes really helped. Only then did Wilbur realize that the psychotic man had only inserted one finger, which was definitely not going to help.

He didn’t have time to think, as Schlatt had already lined up with the Brit’s entrance, suddenly thrusting into him. He screamed out, gripping onto the material of the caramel sweater. Wilbur felt like he was being torn apart, high pitched whimpers escaping his lips.

The curly haired Brit let go of the PA button, moaning as he was rocked back and forth, holding onto Schlatt’s arm. He felt wave after wave of pleasure roll through his body, the sound of his whimpers being mixed in with the noise of skin slapping against skin.

“F-Fuck~! Schlatt~! God, God, you’re so f _ffucking amazing~!_ ”

The ram man cocked an eyebrow, clearly unhappy with Wilbur calling out his name, but continued on. The Brit continued to moan out his name, practically praying and praising Schlatt, calling him God over and over again. The sound of footsteps running towards the room became louder and louder, Wilbur obviously not caring, as he continued to scream out Schlatt’s name.

The American pulled out of Wilbur, practically throwing him against the wall, before savagely thrusting into him again. Every time Schlatt entered him, Wilbur felt like he was getting torn apart. He had never felt so good, crying out in pleasure as the psycho hit his prostate. He sobbed against the wall, his dick twitching, as Wilbur almost desperately gripped onto Schlatt’s sweater.

The Brit screamed out, his prostate continuing to get pounded mercilessly. After the last couple times, Wilbur cried out again, white ropes of cum covering his chest and the wall. He slumped down, only to be hoisted back up by Schlatt, who growled in his ear.

”You’ll stay up until I finish.”

Wilbur’s legs shook as the ram continued to pound into him, feeling sharp teeth sink into his neck as Schlatt almost filled him to the brim. The Brit felt empty as the psychotic American man pulled out of him as he slumped against the wall. Wilbur looked up at him, his chocolate eyes hooded.

The sound of banging against the door startled Wilbur, jumping when it was shoved down. Guards rushed in, grabbing onto Schlatt, who didn’t even protest. One of the guards rushed over to Wilbur, grabbing him, picking him up. He began to droop off, the last thing he saw being Schlatt’s sly grin as he was dragged off. 


End file.
